


Of Dreams and Darkness

by Florrama



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Just a whole load of ficlets, Modern AUs, Sexual Tension, Some slow burn probably, other AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:51:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florrama/pseuds/Florrama
Summary: A collection of Alarkling oneshots and ficlets that have been requested on my tumblr!





	1. Confliction

**Author's Note:**

> Alarkling Modern First Meet

It’s safe to say that Alina spends most of the lecture-slash-speech somewhere between incredibly irritated and annoyingly in awe. She hadn’t exactly expected to be so conflicted - though, now that she thinks about it, it really shouldn’t have been _that surprising_ considering who the speaker was, but she’d spent so long living in complete wonder and quite frankly in some sort of dream state whenever his name was mentioned or his picture shown, that she hadn’t even begun to consider that he would be a major _pain in the ass._

Aleksander Morozova is potentially one of the most arrogant men she has ever had the displeasure - or pleasure. She really can’t tell which - to come across. As soon as he stepped up onto the stage, the crowd fell silent save for a few excited whispers and, embarrassingly, giggles. Alina almost feels ashamed to be a part of the student filled audience - almost, as she doesn’t quite have the room to judge. She had been just as besotted, if not more so, up until the moment his eyes met hers. At least, she thinks they did. She reminds herself that she has quite the vivid imagination, but still can’t seem to convince herself that his smirk at her brief shock and slight flush was imaginary. 

The smirk made her unnecessarily frustrated. He knew that he commanded the crowd, he knew that he looked stupidly, ridiculously good. Handsome, even. Or, as her hormonal brain (she’s 21 and in her last year of uni and she still thinks like a bloody teenager) desperately wants to put it as she watches him talk to the more promising students of the year: _really fucking hot._ Alina supposes that at a base level she must just be attracted to people that have no interest in her, whatsoever. Mal’s rejection (in the form of a laugh and a shake of the head, of all things) still causes a little stab to the gut - but then again, confessing when she was completely smashed probably wasn’t the best idea. But she also quite likes how his hair isn’t completely perfect; one strand hangs down, over his forehead. Though, in all honestly, he probably had it styled that way to appear more _relatable_ and _normal._ There’s also a slight crook in his nose - very slight, barely there, something Alina has noticed because, as she convinces herself, she is an art student and very practised in finding the little details (not because she has been staring at him for the past half an hour). It makes her wonder if there are small scars on his cheeks or forehead, or red scratches and bruises on his knuckles. Would it make him even more attractive? Alina frowns, fingers gripping her camera more tightly. Probably. 

Alina watches him adjust the lapels of his bespoke black suit and the positioning of his silver tie, and grits her teeth. A part of her wants to completely fuck up his appearance, just to irritate him, just to remove that perfect glamour he’s so carefully sewn together. But she also kind of wants that intense attention on her. And other things, plenty of other things it isn’t remotely polite to think about in public nor about a man who is eight (nine?) years older than her and would never be interested -

“Stop glaring or smouldering or whatever look that is. He’s coming this way.” A sharp elbow juts into Alina’s side, and she only has a brief chance to glare at Genya’s professional smile before the air is effectively stolen from her lungs. Her eyes meet his again, except this time they are only a foot apart. 

As Genya begins to rattle off questions, undoubtedly using her charm and wit to coax out the perfect answer for her Student Blog article, Alina takes the time to analyse his appearance up close. The silver tie has a little black embroidery, and the cuff-links in his suit jacket are little moons. Alina can’t help but think of the golden suns poked through her ears, and subconsciously tucks a lock of her white hair behind her ear. His eyes follow her movements, pause on her earrings, and slowly meet her own gaze again. They’re a startling colour and - as cliche as it sounds - unlike anything she’s ever seen. Contacts, possibly. But everything about this man seems impossibly natural: his elegance, charm, wit, _face._ Then Genya finishes the interview, and Alina realises that the entire time he was speaking, he never removed his eyes from hers. 

She freezes for a moment, frowns, and quickly lifts her camera to take a picture. It’s with a great amount of disappointment that she realises she hadn’t succeeded in catching him off guard - in fact the picture is stupidly fucking perfect like everything else. The real deal stands before her, smirking while Genya hisses at Alina under her breath. She simply shrugs, meets his eyes, and raises the camera again.

“Sorry, just testing it out.” Alina forces herself to hold back a grimace when Genya whispers liar. “Another picture?” 

“A little old to be working a student newspaper, aren’t you?” The corner of his lips lifts slightly as Alina takes a few photos. She’ll curse the amazing quality later.

“One,” she begins, crossing her arms and standing a little straighter as if to combat his towering height. “21 is not old. Secondly, it’s a favour for Genya. And I like taking photos, almost as much as I like to paint.”

“Paint?” There are others trying to grab his attention, but he remains entirely fixed on Alina. She frowns slightly and looks for Genya - who seems to have run off somewhere.

“Yeah. Abstract stuff, more than realistic. I’m an art student.” 

The same smirk stretches his lips. She feels like she’s the punchline of a joke she doesn’t understand. “An art student.” His eyes flit down to her hands, as if to search for the paint and ink that usually marks her fingers. Just like she had done earlier to his own hands, searching for bruises and cuts. 

Alina stiffens immediately, fully prepared to defend her chosen degree when someone finally manages to pull Aleksander away from his primary focus. He looks back to her briefly, rubbing at his clean shaven jaw. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” a quick glance at her name tag, before he meets her gaze again. “Alina.” 

The way he speaks her name makes her shiver - and she hates herself for it. But if the way he looks back once more before leaving the room indicates anything, it’s that he isn’t quite done with her yet.


	2. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about an Alarkling fic where Alina decides to get back at the Darkling for nearly running her over with his carriage by, I don't know, dropping a bucket of water/pink paint on him? Throwing a pie in his face? And instead of scolding her, he offers her a romantic dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the previous modern au, though can be read independently. Enjoy & feedback welcome!

The painting before her is a stark contrast between dark and light. It’s chaotic and elegant and possibly the most beautiful thing she has ever created and it is perfect for her project on balance - but Alina hates it. The entire time she painted it she thought of one person and one person only: Aleksander Morozova. Alina frowns at the painting, wonders whether she should just put her foot through the canvas, before quickly deciding against it. She can probably sell it on at some point. Nikolai would take it, just to seem in touch with his _artistic side._

So Alina gathers up her oil paints into a large cardboard box, turns off the lights in the studio, and manages to lock the door despite the key being a little crooked. All she wants to think about now is a hot, relaxing bath, using some of that too expensive bubble bath Nikolai bought her last Christmas, and scrub off all of the paint on her skin - though she may have to take white spirit to some of the larger stains. She even managed to get some on her new jumper. Genya is going to kill her.

But naturally, her thoughts manage to stray back to Mister ‘tough and stoic business man with a really fucking irritating smirk’. It’s been about three weeks since the conference, and Alina knows it’s pathetic, and she often tells herself it is, but she consistently secretly hopes that he will turn up and ask her on a date. Partially so she can reject him (because Alina can imagine the shock at someone refusing him and it would be _delicious_ ) but also because a nice date is something Alina kind of really needs right now. Not even a date. She’s an independent women who don’t need no man - but she hasn’t been involved in any sort of romance for quite some time, and a part of her really quite misses it. As a Uni student, she also misses very nice food, and Aleksander doesn’t come across as someone that would take her to Nando’s on a first date. But then again, Nando’s is better than the Pot Noodles she’s been living off of.

The studio she uses, shared with a few other students to decrease the price, isn’t on campus, but Alina doesn’t mind the extra walk. At least, she doesn’t mind the walk until a sleek, black, very, _very_ expensive car zooms past as she takes her first step into the road, and sends her reeling backwards out of shock. Alina drops the box of paints immediately, swears extremely, and drops to her knees so quickly that she hears them click in sync.

It isn’t so bad, all of the tubes are intact and - despite being a little beaten up - the box is still useful enough. But one of the tubes, one she mustn’t have put the top back on properly, is covered in it’s own paint. As Alina stands, bright yellow paint covers her right hand and it takes all of her energy not to chase down the street and yell abuse at the driver. 

It turns out that she doesn’t have to. Black, immaculately shined shoes appear in her vision, causing Alina to stare for a moment before slowly tracing her eyes up and along the figure. The minute she meets his gaze, Alina wants to look back down again.

“Alina, correct?” His voice is just as melodic as she remembered, and Alina curses the shiver that leaves goosebumps on her arms. She pinches the bridge of her nose in irritation, and effectively ignores the voice in her head that is telling her this is exactly what she asked for. Aleksander Morozova, in her space again. Her knees click again and she stands up straight, ignoring the hand he held out to help her out - kind of pathetically, really. His arm wasn’t even fully straightened out. 

“Yep.” Alina can feel herself flush as his eyes analyse - and there is no other way to put it because she definitely feels like a specimen under his scrutiny - her outfit: warn out jeans, her new jumper, tired old converse, and her white, yellow and black paint stained hair pulled into a messy bun. It also doesn’t help that there is probably paint on her nose and cheeks. She is fully prepared to bet her student loan on the fact that he has never seen someone look such a state. “Was it you that drove past, just now, by any chance?”

For a brief moment, Alina looks up at Aleksander from under her eyelashes. It’s quite amusing to see the tick of his jaw as he considers her question, but amusement soon turns into irritation when he answers quietly, reluctantly: “Yes, my driver. Not the best, I suppose.”

Her eyebrows immediately shoot up and Alina takes a step towards him, careful to avoid the box of paint that sits at her feet. His head tilts down as she steps closer, and she can visibly see his posture tense - ever so slightly - before reversing back to its practised, relaxed position. 

“That doesn’t sound like much of an apology, _Aleksander._ ” 

“I wasn’t aware that an apology was in order. Yes, he was driving quite quickly, but if you had been watching where you were going-”

“Excuse me? Is it really that hard for you to apologise?” Though, what she really wanted to ask was _Are you really that far up your own ass?_ She takes another step closer, desperately trying to create some sort of intimidation, despite the fact that he is quite a bit taller than her. “Jesus, you’re so-” Alina pauses, glances at his suit, before peering inquisitively up at him. “Would you say that suit is expensive?”

Alina imagines that if it were anyone else they would have looked taken aback, but Aleksander simply adjusts his stance and tilts his head. “Yes. It is. Bespoke, naturally.”

“ _Naturally._ ” Her smile is too sweet. He must realise, as his expression becomes more stony. “And do you have many more? I imagine it’s quite easy for you to buy another, considering your income.”

“Plenty. No decent businessman has only one suit, Alina.” She wants to tell him to stop saying her name, especially when they are in such close proximity - shoes practically brushing - because it is incredibly distracting. Then again, the proximity and her ability to see his jaw clench and eyes shut up close when she drags her paint stained hand across the shoulder and chest of his suit jacket certainly does make the situation much better. She takes a step back, narrows her eyes as she looks at the long yellow mark, before leaning back in and adding a smaller stripe to his left shoulder. It’s only then that she steps back completely and grins as she picks the box back up. Alina admires the state of his suit like she would Van Gogh’s Starry Night - with a very wide smile and butterflies in her stomach. Though the butterflies are probably more to do with the intense look Aleksander happens to be giving her. 

As Alina turns, completely expecting him to simply ignore her and sulk back to his car, Aleksander quickly reaches out to grab her arm - gently, but firmly enough to make her stop. 

“Dinner, this weekend?” 

Alina nearly drops the box again. She blames her agreeing on the shock.


	3. Forced Marriage AU

They say it will save Ravka.

And Alina thinks it may work, until she watches his fingers weave nightmares out of shadows, until she tastes electricity and power on his lips and skin. He is nothing like she has ever seen before; there is darkness in his veins and a coolness in his gaze that no sun can combat. They have willingly invited their downfall into their home and, by throwing away the key, have locked themselves in with the enemy.

Except, they still say Ravka is saved.

Because the darkness remains quiet, tamed, shifting in small crevices and tight corners until its master allows it release; the master with stark white hair and sunlight dripping from her fingertips. The darkness may be his to yield, but all it takes is whispered promises of power and yours, always yours, and he is hers - wholly, truthfully hers. She sees the worship in his eyes, hears the prayers caught in his throat, and she knows that Ravka is not safe.

Because she has pure destruction wrapped around her sunlit fingers.

And what a shame it would be not to use it.


	4. Kitty cat

“Absolutely not.”

It shouldn’t surprise Alina, but the refusal still does a little. It will never matter how much the Darkling is wrapped around her little finger, he will always find wiggle room in this little dance of theirs. He’s lounging on the throne, one foot resting casually on the other knee while his head rests in his hand. Alina simply sighs as she inclines her head towards the guards. They leave immediately, finally allowing her the peace and quiet she so wants with her favourite Grisha.

“But don’t you think he’s adorable?” Alina pouts, lifting the furball in her arms up to her face, where she plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. She can feel the Darkling’s scowl across the room - which only makes Alina feel smug. The poor man, jealous of a cat. Whatever next? “I need some company while you traverse the continent - always taking Genya with you.”

“Let’s not forget you almost always choose to stay here, Alina.” His voice is like velvet, slipping across her skin even with feet between them. A part of her hates the effect he still has on her, the control he could enforce if he wanted to - but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t find some pleasure in it. Alina slowly approaches the Darkling, bouncing the cat slowly in her arms - much like a baby, simply to irritate the man before her. And it works; his head bows slightly, and his fingers run across his forehead, most likely teasing away a growing head ache.

As much as she likes to annoy the man, and as much as their love is not the typical sort (and definitely not the sort she ever would have had with that tracker) there is something in the way he lets her see his vulnerabilities. No one else can even see the tensing of his jaw, but Alina spends many times soothing the knots in his back and the pains in his neck. She won’t ever admit it to him, but a slight warmth does bloom in her chest at the thought.

“I know.” She shrugs in return, letting the cat slip from her arms and into the smooth, marble floor. Alina stands beside the Darkling now, the fabric of her kefta brushing against the arm of his dark throne. Everything so, so dark - the curtains, the floor, the throne, him. Everything except her, in her kefta embroidered with gold and her stark white hair. “But if I journeyed with you every time you offered, it would only ruin the enigma - the propaganda - that is the sun summoner. I’m a Saint, not a monarch that needs yearly progresses.”

His hand wraps around her waist and carefully tugs her down to sit on the arm of the throne - and there is hand remains, his thumb drawing circles along her hip.

“And,” Alina continues, running her fingers through the thick strands of his hair. Like oil slipping across her knuckles. “I quite like the influence I build in your absence. Who knows? In several years maybe I’ll be the one they’ll unquestionably obey.”

He makes no sound, but a small smirk tugs at his lips and his hand tightens on her waist.

“Proving, yet again, that I am incredibly lucky to have you on my side, my dear.”

Alina hums in response, busy watching the cat slink around the Darkling’s leg. She smiles, fingers pausing in his hair.

“He seems to like you.”

“And here I thought animals were good at sniffing out bad men.” He responds in a neutral tone, watching the cat with an expression of boredom.

Alina’s fingers trace along the side of the Darkling’s face, drawing across the shadow of his collarbone and the line of his jaw. They stop beneath his chin, and tilt his face towards hers.

“Oh, Aleks, maybe there’s hope for you yet.” He meets her gaze unflinchingly, eyes dropping to her lips briefly before moving his hand to her neck to pull her towards him.

But Alina pushes back when they are only millimetres from meeting.

“Does this mean I can keep him?”

He pauses for a moment, before a sigh spills from his lips and he narrows his eyes.

“If I see him in the bedroom I won’t hesitate.”

Alina grins, before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and resting her forehead against his.

“I knew you’d give in.”


End file.
